Channelling Ghosts
by Blood White Panther
Summary: BobbyRogue. Rogue's power channels some one unexpected. Bobby is properly horrified. Denial. Mentions of het sex. Homosexual themes JohnBobby. You have been warned.


**Title: **Channelling Ghosts

**Fandom:** X-Men Movieverse

**Author:** Blood White Panther (aka whitepanther16)

**Pairing(s):** BobbyRogue with BobbyJohn themes

**Rating/Warnings:** This has an M (or R) rating for mature themes, het sexual content, denial, and slash themes. This has not been beta-ed.

**Notes:** x-posted like whoa.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything that is recognizable from the X-Men movieverse, or any other X-Verse, and I'm not making any money off of this.

Bobby and Rogue were heating up. They were getting better at controlling the impulse to kiss for too long and Bobby was learning not to give in to the urge to kiss or nuzzle Rogue's neck for more than just the briefest touch. They were also learning their way around Bobby's powers and his control was improving. Enough that he didn't so much as freeze the lube very often anymore. It was, however, highly unnerving the first time they hit their stride and Rogue took on a decidedly Logan-like persona. He made a hell of an icicle the first time he found himself kissing someone who acted just like Magneto, but then, Magneto had never looked like Rogue and Bobby was getting used to even that. He was gradually learning to ignore it when Rogue's control slipped and she briefly channelled the consciousness of one of the people she had absorbed with her power. They'd also come up with a new innovation. Bobby wore gloves now too. With awareness and control and oh-so-extremely frustrating practice, they were finally figuring their way around some hot and heavy groping and making out. It was becoming nearly a nightly occurrence, sneaking off to work each other up.

This night started like all the others with Rogue lacing her fingers through Bobby's and Bobby insistently tugging her off to his room. They quickly kicked off their shoes at the door and while Rogue hung the scarf on the doorknob, Bobby crossed to his dresser for his gloves and some lubricant. It's amazing what they could to do each other with meticulously gloved hands and something to ease the passage of latex fingers over skin. Bobby quickly changed into some loose clothing and slipped on a pair of gloves. He watched with greedy eyes as Rogue undressed completely only to redone socks, gloves, loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

As Bobby pressed her into the nearest wall and breathed in the smell of her hair he opened the tube in his other hand. Soon slicked, strong, gloved fingers were sliding under Rogue's shirt and over her bare skin. Quick, cold kisses burned danger through Bobby's lips and tongue as he struggled not to linger in her mouth, and soon Rogue was panting, moaning, slipping graceful, latex-sheathed fingers down his pants and nipping hastily at his lips. At times like this it was almost okay not to touch. Maddening, but okay.

Bobby wasn't sure exactly how it happened. One minute they were falling back on the bed at his urging with, vague ideas in his head about fingering and if he could maybe fuck her sometime with their clothes mostly on and him with a condom-sheathed dick poking out the fly of his pants. The next minute, however, Rogue had the upper hand and she was pushing him down into the covers like her prey and half straddling him with a firm thigh at his crotch. He was disoriented from the switch in dominance, but before he could regain his balance she was looming over him and backing off only enough to tug down his pants. And then jacking his cock with a grip almost a little too sure and he was panting icy fast and losing all sense and wondering just who she was channelling at the moment. And then she smirked. For some reason that all-knowing and strangely wicked smirk was foreboding in the worst possible way, but before he could consciously identify where he'd seen it before he was trembling and bucking and coming into that hand and seeing stars behind his eyes.

It wasn't until he was shaking through a particularly violent aftershock while indulging in an equally brutal kiss that he identified the expression. It hit him like a wave of ice water and he lurched away from Rogue like she was burning him. He was pale and cold and shaking and somewhere in his mind it registered that he could see his breath. He could hear Rogue's progressively more panicked confusion, but only in a detached sort of way. He could see her beside him, shaking in cold, wrapping herself in a blanket as she inched closer, but couldn't process her concern. Getting away was all he could think about right now. He stumbled clumsily to the floor, straightened his pants as he wrenched open the door, and took off down the hall. He made it into the boys' washroom down the hall before his knees hit the floor and he was retching.

Once he managed to calm down the gagging, Bobby tried to take stalk of the situation. He was alone in the bathroom in the middle of the night on his knees in the middle of the floor and he couldn't stop shaking. And it was all because of a (strangely familiar) foreign expression on Rogue's face. All because of that stupidly devious curling of lips. It was a cocky smirk. It was a familiar smirk. It was _John's_ smirk.

Bobby had seen that look a million times before. His throat was tight with tears he wouldn't cry and he was still shaking. His fists were clenched on the cold tile in small mounds of ice. He didn't know which was worse: being forcibly reminded of John, his best friend turned traitor, when he was least expecting it, the idea that Rogue was never just that slightly more mysterious version of Marie anymore, or the twisting voice in his gut that knew he, Bobby Drake, had just come hard and fast and sooner than expected because he'd seen St. John Allerdyce's trademark expression looming over him.


End file.
